


Pneumonia

by boshums



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boshums/pseuds/boshums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sick Daryl and cuddly times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pneumonia

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the LJ [TWD_kinkmeme](http://twd-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/profile) prompt:  
> Non-zombie related illness. I'm sick at the moment, and I would love to see a fic where either Daryl or Glenn gets sick and the other one takes care of him. Can be either slash, pre-slash or gen, any rating.

Daryl woke up slowly, his body aching and his throat dry. Daryl tried to lift his arm to rub the sleep from his eyes, but, really, the emphasis was definitely on "try." _Forget an aching body_ , Daryl thought, _Fuck, my fuckin'_ bones _hurt down to the marrow. Holy spittin' hell._ Grunting in effort, Daryl was vaguely conscious of there being something odd about the bed that hadn't been odd when he had fallen asleep, but he was mostly preoccupied with trying to convince himself that opening his eyes wasn't an insurmountable challenge. In the middle of his battle over sight, he starts coughing, which was a really more of a forced exhale that sounded… wet. All the same, Daryl could feel the sensation of the cough rattling in his lungs and, just, god, his body, it aches.

It's only after he realizes he's not alone in the bed that Daryl registers there's sound in the room; he knows he's tired though 'cause the reason he knows he's not alone - and, god, he's so tired he can't even hate himself for not registering _sound_ \- is that his mattress is breathing. Daryl's eyes flash open and he jerks up with a surge of adrenaline that lasts all of ten seconds before he's shutting them and collapsing back again with a groan. He's as helpless as a kitten, but at least he saw something that makes him feel at least half okay about the situation - a baseball cap.

Glenn - because who else would be wearing that god-awful cap even when in bed? - had to be sitting against the headboard of the bed. The kid was slouched, cradling Daryl's body against his chest. Daryl realized he had his head tilted back against the kid's shoulder when he finally got his eyes open only to see the popcorn ceiling of Hershel's impromptu guest-room; Glenn's own head is bowed down to Daryl's shoulder to better view whatever noise making apparatus the kid was holding propped on Daryl's stomach. All Daryl could really see of the kid was that dirty ol' ratty cap; he could, however, feel how the kid was curled around him just fine - arms under Daryl's own, holding whatever; his thighs on the side of Daryl's hips as the kid's knees were drawn up and his feet tucked under Daryl's legs. Daryl would accuse Glenn of mooching off Daryl's body heat to warm his toes, but the kid's a fucking furnace behind him and Daryl would be lying if he didn't say he knew it was the other way around.

This should all… really disturb him more than it actually does; he blames his lack of concern on the exhaustion, because, really, even thinking at this point is making him want to lay down and die he's so bone weary. The fact that the kid's clearly distracted and not doing anything weird helps, but, seriously, Daryl thinks, _what the fuck happened_.

Daryl's eyes feel like they're made of sandpaper and stone when he stirs to look around - which, god, he realizes must mean he's dehydrated on top of everything else, hot damn.

And it takes him even longer to recognize something else in his environment has suddenly changed. It's only a moment before the kid starts speaking that it clicks for Daryl, the change having been Glenn pausing his game, plunging the room in a moment of silence.

"You awake again?" Glenn asks, picking his head up and turning to face Daryl so that the kid is basically speaking into his cheek. Frowning, Daryl starts the arduous process of trying to get a word out; the kid had let go of his game with one hand, moving around where Daryl couldn't see, and presented him with a glass of water by the time Daryl managed to croak "Again?"

"Yeah," Glenn answered in an absent tone, concentrating, apparently, on holding the glass up to Daryl's mouth - which was great, because Daryl himself didn't even have the energy to be bothered about being helpless. "When Carol came back up after dinner to get your plate, she, uh, found you up here. Apparently you were shivering cold, but were running a real high fever. Everyone came up, made sure you weren't bitten and they said Mr. Hershel checked you over. 'parentally you've got pneumonia." He said it like Daryl'd won a prize, the fucker.

Glenn shifted behind him again, putting the glass back on the bedside table with a thunk before cuddling - seriously, Daryl wishes he could have thought of a different word, but that's the only one that fit - back down and around Daryl, picking his video game back up in two hands.

Daryl tilted his head back against the kid's shoulder and could feel his body freeze after he asked "And you're in bed with me because..?"

"Well," Glenn started, not even bothering to pause his game, which miffed Daryl almost enough to care; "you were… really upset, okay? You had a really, really high fever and were kinda delirious too?" He was - Glenn was wrapped around him - _wrapped_ around _him_ , and Daryl was somehow the one making the kid nervous? Forget that; Daryl concentrated on somehow increasing the effects of gravity on his body, because if that was how the kid was going to be? Fine.

Glenn let out a little grunt, more of an expulsion of air, and shifted before continuing. "Anyway, you were coughing uncontrollably too, and Hershel was bogarting the pillows, so someone was going to have to sit and prop you up. It was a choice between me or Shane, alright? They kinda shoved me into bed with you when I showed up late to the party, to be honest." _Showed up late_? What did he mean by that - and, more importantly, why did it upset Daryl the kid wasn't right up and center when everybody else had shown up? "Would you rather have Shane back here? 'cause he's gone batty in my opinion, but I can go get him if you want, man." Which was a total lie; Glenn wasn't even pretending to get up.

And, well, people who did this - who fuckin' cuddled someone in bed just 'cause they were sick - well, they didn't laugh at that self same sick person behind their back, right? It just… that wasn't how those stories about caring went. So maybe - maybe - he should cut Glenn some slack. If Daryl was being honest with himself (and he rarely was; he must be pretty damn sick, man), besides for the ache he feels set deep in his bones brought on by this cold, this, this right here? This moment, surrounded by Glenn, warm, dry, clean and on an honest-to-god bed (with pillows and a matching comforter set even) is the most comfortable Daryl's been in years, never mind the months they've spent running from the geeks.

And if - _if_ \- he were being completely honest with himself, Daryl would even have to admit that a lot of the comfort had to do with it being Glenn stuck in bed with him.

Daryl coughed once, more to get his mind off his thoughts than an actual need to cough, and shifted a bit, feeling Glenn move with him, deeper into the mattress. For all the focus he was apparently giving the game in his hands, Glenn was really paying a lot of attention to Daryl, and that - made Daryl feel comfortable on a whole 'nother level.

He usually… stuck pretty close to the kid anyway, Daryl thought, letting his eyes close again and resting his head back on Glenn's left shoulder. He stood by him, usually, whenever everybody was gathered 'round - well, gathered 'round _calmly_. Whenever they set up camp, dinner, planning, Otis' funeral… Daryl was - fuck it, he thought, coughing weakly, he was _shy_ , alright? He didn't know how to interact with people; his track record with the group attested well enough to that. He didn't know how to get someone to like him for him, so he - he brought them food, make sure they were safe; maybe if he showed them he was useful, that he could pull his weight and then some while not getting in the way, then maybe they'd… He couldn't say "like him," it sounded too sissy and weak even in his own head, but maybe they'd start to warm up to him like no one in town, in school, in, shit, his own _family_ ever had. Maybe they wouldn't leave him. Merle had said he would be the only one to ever love him, and Daryl didn't doubt Merle did love him in some weird, twisted Merle way, but, fuck, Daryl had seen truer examples of affection on _television_ for christssake, and it wasn't like he was watching Emmy Award winning programs.

Glenn had always been a little different though; separate from the group like him, but just as important to win over. Only - Glenn didn't really need Daryl like the rest of them did. Yeah, sure, Glenn smiled at Daryl more than anyone else when Daryl was on night-watch, keeping them (him) safe, but Glenn didn't need Daryl to eat, to survive, not like the rest of them did. Which should have made Daryl hate him, really, but then Glenn also talked with - _with_ \- him more than anyone else too. And Glenn touched him - he was a tactile kinda kid, always holding something, touching his cap or rubbing his hands on his pants. It was never really anything big, Glenn's touching, just bumping shoulders when the kid told a joke at his expense or a pat on Daryl's shoulder for a good morning - the point was, Glenn was the only person still alive who didn't touch him in relation to a fight and it was something.

So he stuck by the kid when they were in a group, he - noticed the kid, watched out for him. Hell, Daryl was the only one who'd spoken to the kid when they were in the CDC, and the kid had looked like _shit_ beforehand, sitting all alone-like with his thoughts. Daryl's noticed Glenn in other ways too more recently, ways that made him… a little more than uncomfortable. See, he knows Merle's views on homosexuality; knows it in the sense that he's seen the aftermath of what everyone else would call hate-crimes, all up close and personal like. At the same time, however, Daryl also knew that Merle's view wasn't the same as everyone else's - hell, it wasn't even his, it was just something he'd had to know and conform to for so long it felt like law. But Daryl knew it wasn't law and he was just so _tired_ \- of it, of Merle and just, fuckin', right now. Daryl was tired, aching even, and yet so, so comfortable and warm and even though his body felt like shit, he had this whole other body _right beneath him_ that was just - solid in a way his rough-worn and sinewed self wasn't.

Glenn had propped him up once more for a sip of water and, as they were settling back down, Daryl realized that, in paying attention to how Glenn positioned his body in order to best cradle Daryl, Daryl had completely ignored how his own body was settling - more importantly, he had ignored how his hands, each and every time, came to rest on Glenn's hips, situated as they were just to either side of Daryl's lower back. Even as he thought this, Daryl realized the thumb of his right hand was drawing little circles around the protruding bone of Glenn's pelvis and Glenn hadn't and wasn't saying a thing.

Daryl knew hope was a mighty powerful and hurtful thing, but he couldn’t help falling prey. He hated himself a little for it and hated a tinge the sense of calm, the rush of relaxation that swept through him along with the hope. But the hope also made his headache go away, took away the anxiety that was keeping him from succumbing to his body's need for sleep and made the memory of draggin' himself out of that ditch - twice - and getting shot for his troubles a little less heavy. It - or maybe the pain meds - also gave him the gumption to go ahead and wrap his hand around Glenn's hip, both claiming it and anchoring himself. After a moment, Daryl felt Glenn sigh heavily; felt Glenn's chest expand and contract behind him and felt the exhale long and slow and warm, on his neck. And that, Daryl thought drowsily to himself, was that. Except -

"Hershel know you're siphoning his electricity to power a GameBoy?"

That got a laugh out of Glenn, which - hurt, actually, but Glenn was laughing _because_ of him, not at, and Daryl thought that was worth a little pain in the end.


End file.
